


Waiting Up

by makethestorylast



Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: Howard is angry for all of three seconds, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, a very non-sexual bath scene, but we all knew that wasn't going to last, someone please give these boys a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25253986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makethestorylast/pseuds/makethestorylast
Summary: Howard promised to not get attached, but when John gets home late, bloody and broken, those promises fly out the window.
Relationships: Howard Goodman/John McNamara
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Waiting Up

**Author's Note:**

> CW // Anxiety, blood, non-sexual nudity mentioned

Howard is pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. The same patch of carpet, around and around in circles, his heart racing faster than his feet and his mind racing even faster than that.

Logically, Howard knows this is normal. It’s only midnight. He’s been out later, much later. He’s done more dangerous work.

_But he’s always told you where he’s going._

John will be okay. He has to be okay. Because if he doesn’t come home…

Howard can’t fathom it.

So he keeps pacing, back and forth in front of the door, playing that morning in his head over and over.

* * *

_“You’re coming home on time tonight?” They were inches apart, standing by the half-open front door, John dressed for work with one foot out the door already._

_“You know I can’t promise that.”_

_“But you’ll try?”_

_“I always do.”_

_“And if you have to go… you’ll tell me where you’re going?”_

_“You know that I can’t—” Howard grabbed John’s hands and pulled him closer._

_“Please?”_

_John moved his hands to Howard’s waist and pressed a kiss to his lips._

_“I’ll try.”_

_And before Howard could protest, John slipped out the door, letting it click shut behind him._

* * *

Howard struggles to hold in tears. That could’ve been their last kiss. Those could’ve been their last words. What if John doesn’t make it. What if Howard never sees him again, never gets to appreciate his smile or the way his hair falls on his shoulders or how his eyes light up when—

The lock on the door clicks, snapping Howard out of his spiral. The door squeaks as it opens, and John steps inside. Howard turns, desperately trying to keep his tears in. He’s not upset, dammit, he’s angry. Angry at John for disappearing without so much as a word, angry that he got attached so quickly, he’s angry, he’s _angry_ , and he’s going to give John a piece of his mind.

“It’s midnight.” His voice cracks, betraying the fact that he’s actually—

_No. Angry. I’m angry at him._

John sighs, running a hand through his hair. Howard watches his hand as it comes back covered in blood and sweat. He runs his gaze over John’s head, trying to find where the blood is coming from before he reminds himself again that he doesn’t care. He’s _angry._ Except now John is back, and he’s hurt, and maybe Howard cares more than he lets on.

“I’m sorry.” John sounds broken. He’s not supposed to sound broken. He is the strongest, bravest, most stubborn man Howard knows. What on Earth could break him?

“Where the hell were you?” Angry. _Angry._ Right. Howard could be worried later. He could piece John back together later. But for now, he’s angry.

Or he would be. But a tear falls down John’s cheek, and when he goes to wipe it away, he smears blood across his face. His expression is blank and empty, his eyes vacant. 

So Howard pulls him into a hug.

And John breaks.

He sobs into Howard’s shoulder, grabbing at his shirt and pulling him even closer, and Howard holds him, strokes his hair, whispers calming words in his ear. They both sink to the floor.

“I’m… I’m sorry—” John chokes through his sobs, but Howard rubs his back and shushes him.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m right here. Just breathe, can you breathe for me?” He hears John’s breath hitch. “Focus, can you do that? Just focus on my breathing. Breathe with me, John. Okay?” Howard takes a deep breath and feels John follow him. He breathes out slowly. John exhales all at once and gasps for air again, but Howard whispers, “Good. You’re doing so good. Let’s do it again.”

They sit there, Howard talking John through his anxiety until his breathing is back to normal. Then, without warning, Howard scoops John into his arms—Howard isn’t strong by any means, but John weighs almost nothing—and carries him to the couch, settling down with John curled into his side, still crying softly. He reaches for the remote and turns on some nature documentary before putting his arms back around John, running a hand through his hair, stopping suddenly when he feels blood.

John must realize what’s wrong, because Howard hears him whisper into his side, “It isn’t mine.”

That should probably concern him, but it doesn’t. He just goes back to running a hand through John’s hair and rubbing his back until they both drift off.

* * *

When Howard wakes up, he stretches his arms, disoriented and confused. Then John stirs and he remembers exactly _why_ he’s laying on the couch, John curled into his side. The TV is now playing an infomercial. He turns it off and gently shakes John awake.

“C’mon. We need to clean you up.”

John buries his head in Howard’s shoulder with a grunt, but he isn’t swayed. Instead, Howard stands, lifting John with him, and carries him to the bathroom. By the time they reach the door, John is (reluctantly) standing, though he still leans most of his weight on Howard, who opens the door and starts running a bath.

Still half-asleep, John peels off his shirt. Howard looks away.

“Do you need me to leave?” he whispers, busying himself with the bath as John continues to strip down.

“Don’t,” he replies, then whispers, “please.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

It isn’t the first time Howard has seen John nude, but seeing him injured, broken, _vulnerable…_ it feels wrong. But he brushes the feeling away. First, he needs to patch John up. Feelings can come later.

He turns off the tap and helps lower John into the warm water, watching as he relaxes with a quiet sigh. Howard pulls gently at the matted, blood-stained patch of John’s hair and reaches for the shampoo. John melts into the touch as Howard gently washes his hair, taking care to get out every last bit of blood. He watches John’s eyes flutter shut and smiles, running his thumb across John’s jaw as he rinses out the shampoo.

“I love you,” Howard murmurs, pulling his hand away and turning his attention back to John’s hair. But John’s eyes fly open and he twists his head around, staring at Howard.

“What?” 

_Shit._ He should’ve known better. Why is he so stupid? Why did he say that? _Why?_

“Sorry, was that too soon? We can just… forget that. If you want. I mean, not that I was lying, I just—” he stammers.

John puts his hand over Howard’s, silencing him. “I love you too.”

“Oh.” He blinks, then pulls his hand away, shocked. “I mean, good! Great! Not that you had to… wow…” he trails off with a laugh. John smiles and grabs his hand again.

“I’ve wanted to say that for a while.”

“Me too.”

“So much for not getting attached,” he teases, going to lean his head against Howard's shoulder before remembering that his hair was still wet. He pulls away. “Why don’t we finish up, I want to cuddle with you again.”

And how the hell is Howard supposed to say no to that?

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to drop a comment/kudos if you enjoyed! <3
> 
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